


Not Such a Stretch

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 17:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Asra has a new morning routine, which—amazingly—means so does Julian.





	Not Such a Stretch

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a vague post-canon where things turn out okay. I wrote this many months ago, so if it's not a little canon divergent yet it may be eventually.

Julian wakes to strangely soft pillows and a familiar incense that kick-starts his heart rate. Blearily he takes in the star pattern until he recognizes it. He lifts with a jolt before remembering the last morning, and the last.

_Well, then_.

If his leg weren’t already dangling off the bed, he would have burrowed back into it and inhaled. As it is he fumbles beside it for his shirt and comes up with nothing. He spots it across the room, near a little cactus plant on the windowsill, of all places. _Not even hungover_. It worsens the sting when he takes three steps and trips.

“Oof, what—Ilya? Are you all right?”

A mat on the floor cushions the fall, as does Asra, who for some reason must have been lying on it. Julian’s elbow isn’t banged up enough to make up for the wound to his pride, but he tries to grin over his shoulder at him. “Never better. Just, ah, falling for you.”

Asra nudges his leg, and Julian crawls to where he can sit up and observe. He’s used to walking in on Asra in strange positions. For one thing, he never seemed to learn that chair arms were for, well, _arms_ , not that he preferred to use chairs in the first place. Anytime Julian mentioned it, Asra shrugged, so he stopped. It’s not like Julian is one to talk about being caught in unusual or even compromising positions.

For once, this seems purposeful. Asra is spread out on his stomach, or would be, if he hadn’t lifted his top half off the floor in a graceful arc. Beside him, Faust is imitating the position as best she can, though her neck is considerably more vertical.

“Didn’t mean to booby trap you,” Asra says. “I thought you’d sleep longer. I’ll start breakfast soon.”

Julian hates that he can’t offer to do it instead, not after mistaking potion ingredients for regular ingredients and almost killing the salamander. Then there was the time his smoke sent the neighbors running to check on them... “No, no need, I don’t mean to interrupt whatever it is you’re—what are you doing?

“Stretches Nadi showed me. She says she does them every morning to stay calm and focused. This is nothing compared to what she can do, though.”

“Well, most of what most people do isn’t. You think that has something to do with this, er, habit?” _Calm and focused_ doesn’t sound like anything that happens when Asra and Julian are together. Hell, not even the three of them, if one of them catches Nadia up in a dare.

“Who knows? I think she’s just amazing. But it can’t hurt to try.”

It _does_ look like it could hurt, Julian thinks as Asra switches positions. This time, his hands are holding him up. Faust slithers beneath his chin to look up at him, and he lowers just enough to press his nose against her snout. Warmth wiggles into Julian’s chest.

His bare chest. After locating his shirt, he pulls it on. “I’ll just, ah, go out and pick up something for us. Bread, the man’s bread around the corner, good for you?” He’d head out to sea for whatever Asra wanted, of course, but that wouldn’t get him back to Asra soon enough.

It was never soon enough, lately. He was trying not to leap back into this, trying to do something that would—that would be good for Asra. Good for them. But three years with Asra’s keys in his pocket and a hole in his memory had been too much.

“If that’s what you want.” Asra sounds put out. Not that Julian has ever been good at reading him, but he’s been a close study, this time around.

“Is that what you want?”

“I want to cook for you.” Asra is flushed, though it might be the exertion from the pose he’s taken up, his arm looking ready to pop from its socket. “But I know you hate anyone doing anything for you, so I’d rather not argue about it this early.”

“I’m not going to—I was just—" Julian pinches the bridge of his nose. Ever since Julian first screwed up the courage to ask him to dinner, Asra has been trying to prevent arguments at every turn. Julian can’t tell if it’s helping or turning him into an unsprung coil.

Asra’s right. It’s too early. “I’d, uh, love to eat your cooking.”

That makes Asra smile, warm and sleepy. Julian sits at the foot of the bed, tapping his foot so his mouth won’t run and interrupt Asra’s exercise in calm and focus. The sunrise paints Asra's back pink and orange as he stretches, and though Julian is never calm, nothing could tear his focus from this.


End file.
